


This I Can Manage

by noseforahtwo



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Dynamics, Power Play, Service Top, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-19
Updated: 2015-07-19
Packaged: 2018-04-10 04:22:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4377047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noseforahtwo/pseuds/noseforahtwo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been a long week/month/military campaign/guerilla war.</p>
<p>Evelyn doesn't want to be in charge for an hour or two.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This I Can Manage

When Blackwall asked her what was wrong, she hardly knew how to answer. The stack of paper on her desk swam in her suddenly watery vision.

_I don't want to. I don't want to decide. To tell anyone what to do, ever again_.  
It was running through her mind like a bratty child, this urge to abdicate all responsibility, to order up a carriage and ride home to her Papa, who would make everything all right. She ignored the fact that a woman of thirty had no such luxury any longer, the idea of it was awfully tempting.

But lives depended on her. Too many lives. Dorian. Her lovely, laughing, darling Dorian who was going to save his homeland, but she had to get him there in one piece. There were Venatori to be hunted down, and nauseating blood magic to be thwarted. Sera, who was so good at looking after herself before all this. Now she looked to Evelyn for reassurance that Corypheus would die. Was it all going to come out all right in the end? Better ask the Herald of Frigging Andraste.

The Iron Bull can take care of himself, ditto The Chargers, but Cole? A boy now, a human, as far as Solas knew, but where would he go, who would he cling to if the Inquisition folded?

She stood when he came to the hearth, unbuckling his heavy belt, leaving his sword leaning by the bricks. She pressed her nose into the immovable warmth of Blackwall's chest, a gusty and humid sigh stirring her hair as it escaped her. "I'm sick of making decisions." His arms crept around her waist. "I want to be left alone," her voice sounded stupid and pitiful even in her own ears.

He made to step away until she grabbed at his elbows. "No! Not you, I didn't mean." She shook her head sadly, let him go so she could sit on the corner of her desk, worrying a loose thread in her cuff. "I don't want to be...to have to be-"

"The Inquisitor?" Blackwall tucked a loose strand of hair carefully behind her ear, his callused fingers gentle. "You would rather be Evelyn Trevelyan for the night?" His eyes were already darkening as she fidgeted under his light touch.

"No," She sighed, but didn't have the words to go on. She shrugged, the motion awkward and obviously strained. "I want..." she trailed off, looking down at the scuffed caps of his boots in front of her. "I want to be a nobody again. Nobody at all." Her head drooped further and she laughed a little. “I’m only whinging, don’t mind me. There are some things even a big burly Warden Constable can’t defeat.”

Blackwall's broad hands cupped her cheeks, and she closed her eyes before his searching look. She knew he was watching, measuring the guilt and melancholy in her face, in the thin line of her lips pressed together. A split second's warning, the tickle of his mustache on her skin before he was pulling softly at her lips, his kiss sweet and undemanding. While it did conjure heat in her belly, she dreaded the moment he would be looking up at her from the bed, buried inside her, and he would watch her with adoration, reverence naked in his eyes. She'd done nothing to deserve that look, and it made her feel like a fraud even considering it.

Just as she was about to turn away, he pulled her hands to the laces of his coat. She began loosening them automatically, for what else could he possibly mean? Normally he would be pulling at her shirt or easing a jumper over her head between fervent kisses, but he just kept teasing her with his tongue, slowly and without agenda, it seemed. When she had his coat open, he shrugged out of the sleeves, letting it fall to the rug. Blackwall took her hands, which had been creeping up his sides beneath his shirt, and pulled them away. 

"Pick that up," he said quietly.

Blinking at him, she glanced at it on the floor, wondering what had happened that he couldn’t bend over.

"Don't make me repeat myself." He kissed her cheek softly, stepped back to give her room to get to her feet. In a much softer, but no less authoritative voice than the one he used on new recruits, he said, "Pick my coat up and put it away."

* * *

 

_Oh_. Evelyn smoothed her hands down her own shirt, pushing wrinkles aside. 

"Yes." She knelt to do as he asked, a thrill of nerves passing through her. She glanced up before she stood, but he was looking at the fireplace. She folded the coat, put it carefully atop a chest at the foot of her bed and ran a hand through her hair, wondering how this game was supposed to be played. _Should I drop trou or let him tell me when to?_

"Have you finished?" He sounded almost bored, back to her as she risked a look behind her.

"Ah, nearly, yes..." In for a penny. "Yes, Ser." _Oh, Maker, what in Thedas am I doing._ She unlaced and shed her boots before going back. Barefoot on the cold stones, she felt smaller as she padded around him, small and a little silly. 

The sight of him chewing a nail, which he tried to cover by pulling at his beard, was reassuring. Yes, it felt awkward now, but Evelyn was pretty certain she could get into the spirit of things if he kept it up. Giving him a smoldering look that belied her prim tone, she did her best to simper, "Is there anything else I can do, My Lord?"

Something like surprise in his raised brows, surprise and pleasure as he looked at her bare toes, her hands clasped neatly at her waist. Remembering himself, he jerked his head at the stairs. "Some wine from the cellar. Red."

Evelyn's hands went to her hips without conscious thought. She had been expecting something lascivious, or at least _interesting_. 

Blackwall chuckled, as though he knew just what she was thinking. "Proper service will be rewarded," he intoned, running a knuckle lightly along her jaw. "Quick service, doubly so."

She shivered. That intimate, gravelly voice would be her undoing. "All right, then." She edged between him and the arm chair that was his favorite, intending to slide on a pair of slippers.

"As you are." He frowned at her, his familiar features still managing to be a bit unnerving, backlit as he was by the fire.

"I can't walk out there like this," Evelyn froze, balanced on one foot, slipper in hand.

"You will." There was a hint of steel in his tone that made her nipples hard, imagining what she might get after a little disobedience. But it was too soon for that. Feeling her face redden, she ducked her head and hurried downstairs. Keeping a sharp eye out for anything, well, sharp in the uneven floorboards of the next level, she stopped at the door to the Hall. Braying laughter and the sound of clattering tableware leaked through the cracks. Maybe she could cut along behind the table to the right, slip into the antechamber before Josie's office.

_That will look even more odd than walking around barefoot. Shit._ Evelyn turned around, ready to go back and laugh it off. She could just kiss him and say 'Thank you, I feel much better now. A little turn as serving girl was diverting.'  
But this wasn't the enjoyable bit. There were a thousand things he could tell her to do. When she got back up there he could be waiting in the bed, waiting to be serviced. Maybe he would have her undress him, or bathe him. She'd been daydreaming of sitting in his lap in the big porcelain tub Josephine had delivered last week. Or he could be seated behind her desk, scratching away at something while she knelt out of sight, opening his fly, trying to tease him with her tongue until he swept the polished surface clean and dragged her up, bent her over in front of him, her trousers yanked roughly down.

None of that was going to happen if she didn't play along first. She traced a finger carefully at the edges of her lips, in case any of her makeup remained, smudged from their kiss. A deep breath, shoulders back, and she would simply make skads of eye contact and walk quickly, she decided as she swung the door open.

And made it all of three steps. Vivienne was holding court at the far end of the Hall, noblemen and women leaning in to hear her. No one had turned her way, and there on the corner of the table closest to her was a nearly full bottle.

Proud of herself for having (as far as he knew) followed direction to the letter, she bounded back up the stairs, remembering at the last second to school her expression into something she hoped looked sufficiently cowed, but still fetching. "My Lord," she added a hint of a curtsy, putting the bottle on her desk and coming to his chair in front of the fire.

He leaned back, rested a booted foot on the fire grate as one hand slid possessively up her thigh to grip her hip, his thumb rubbing firm circles against the bone. "You were quick."

Heart hammering from more than her sprint upstairs, Evelyn was watching the progress of his hand under her thin shirt when he continued. "Very quick." With a mocking little twitch of his lips, he asked, "Who opened the bottle for you?"

Her stuttered reply was little more than a weak denial under the weight of his stare. Even knowing it was a silly game, Evelyn fidgeted, leaning away from the hand under her blouse. This arrogant, disaffected persona he’d adopted was unsettling, but it also made her knees feel watery.

"Turn around." He applied a little pressure to her hip, while resting his head on the back of the chair, as if bored with it all. His approximation of disinterested noble wasn't bad, and anything it lacked Evelyn more than made up for in nervous anticipation as she obeyed, turning her back to him. But that hand didn't knead her arse, it didn't slide between her thighs. It slipped down her leg and Blackwall pulled at her ankle, as if she were a horse being checked for lameness. Looking over her shoulder at him, she found he was squinting at the sole of her foot. 

"A trip all the way to the cellar and your little feet should be black." His thumb slid along the still-clean crease beneath her toes. She twitched and tried to pull away, but he tightened his grip with a weary sigh. "A shame. Punishment, then," he said sadly, letting her foot go. Evelyn faced him, waited for him to tell her what he wanted, but he was silent, watching her shift from foot to foot, with a smug little grin that she didn’t usually see unless she was already gasping for him in bed.

Just as she was about to ask, What am I supposed to do now? Blackwall looked at the laces of her trousers. "Off."

Her hands flew to follow his direction, and he watched as she shimmied out of the tight leathers, standing beside his chair in her loose blouse and knickers. 

His fingertips on the back of her knee had her shivering, gooseflesh rippling over her. Sitting up straight, his hand guided her to stand in front of him, but in her hurry, she went to her knees on the rug, about to drape herself over his  lap. 

"No." His voice was hard, his hand on her arm even more so. "Stand up."

Confused, flushed, she did and waited between his spread knees, her hands twisting into the hem of her shirt. The nervous shaking that had begun in her middle was radiating outward now as he looked at her, just studied the lace of her smalls dispassionately. "Ah, my lord, you said I was going to be-"

He hooked one finger in the waist of her smalls and pulled. She helped, wriggling until they were at her knees, and she stepped out. His nostrils flared with a deep breath and he adjusted himself in his breeches, inching forward to sit on the edge of his chair. The bored facade faltered, and for a moment he was her own Warden, hands firm on her hips, pulling her closer with a hungry growl. But he mastered himself, and tipped a look up at her, patting the seat beside him. When she trembled and stared at him without understanding, he huffed a frustrated sigh and pulled her left foot up to rest on the seat beside his leg. 

Evelyn reached out to steady herself on his shoulder, but he shook his head. "Hands behind your back."

She found herself fixated on the way Blackwall’s shirt stretched over his broad shoulders as he leaned into the crux of her thighs. Warm breath ghosted over the curls between her legs and her trembling doubled. This was punishment? His hair tickled the skin along her inner thigh, nudging her to spread her legs wider as one callused hand rested a moment on the slight curve of her abdomen. He thumbed her open for his tongue. She was accustomed to a teasing touch at first, little flicks of his wet tongue around, but not quite on her clit, while he curled a gentle finger inside her, coaxing her to a fever pitch. But now nothing touched her but his thumb and his mouth, the incongruity of it making her shudder as much as his insistent tongue. Blackwall suckled her clit, and she moaned, star bursts of light at her tightly shut eyes. At the sound, he stopped, leaned away to pin her with a sharp look when she opened her eyes. _Maker_ , he was practically sneering up at her, and it did ridiculous things to her. "Quiet. You'll take this quietly, girl."

Evelyn wobbled, unsteady as he dove in again. The fire behind her was uncomfortably warm on the backs of her bare legs. His teeth scraped her and she jumped, rocking into and then away from his assault, but she bit her lips to keep silent. He gave her a little leeway. She could jerk back, but he was following her twitching hips, sucking hard and swirling his tongue over her relentlessly.

_Oh, fuck, please_. She didn't voice it, though her panting breaths were a dead giveaway. The more she arched away from his mouth, the harder his lips and tongue pushed her until she gave in and was grinding back against him, desperate for more, more, and harder if that's what it took to get her over the peak.

A moment or two longer, a few piercing, blinding lashes of ecstasy from his teeth and she would break. Serve him right if I jump hard enough to break that nose of his. She put her hands in her own hair, needing something to keep them away from him, to follow orders like a good girl as her hips jerked and she tensed, so close.

Then his mouth was gone, the chilly air of her room met her swollen, over sensitized flesh. Her pulse was pounding there between her thighs. She stared down at him in shock, about to demand he put his mouth back, about to reach out and grab a handful of his hair, when she remembered she was supposed to be a good girl. A good little nobody.

His lips and chin were wet as he sat back and calmly began unlacing his own breeches. She watched hungrily, fingers itching to take hold of his cock, to guide him into her and finally come hard - clenching him, grinding down on him until he groaned. He stroked himself slowly, eyes on hers as she made to straddle him. Blackwall reached up and stopped her with a hand on her hip. "After you've done as you're told."

She spluttered, not sure what she wanted to say first, and what eventually came out wasn't coherent or polite. He laughed, low and utterly nasty, hand gripping himself a little more tightly. "Put your clothes on and fetch a bottle from the cellar this time, girl." He watched her step into her smalls, hand moving slowly over his erection, thumb circling the crown at each pass. Evelyn turned her back to give him the best view as she shimmied into her trousers, in the hope he would change his mind and pull her into his lap. Though he watched with avid interest for the way her arse bounced a bit, his mouth was set in a determined line and he jerked his head at the stairs again.

Another, then. Dressed but still without shoes, she went back down. Evelyn scuffed her feet and walked in circles in the far corner of the tower where soot and who knows what else had gathered. Satisfied that she could pass for a well-behaved little servant, and just as determined _not to be one,_ she smiled brightly at Varric, the first person she could flag down from the door. The look he gave her when he came back said a lot about what he thought was going on but he only shrugged and handed over a bottle of reasonably good Rivaini red.

“Sweet dreams, Princess,” the dwarf chuckled, shaking his head as she shut the door behind him.

Taking the stairs slowly this time, she made sure to leave a wobbly line of sooty grey footprints in the rug as she came back to the fire. His breeches were partially laced, the line of his erection beneath them evident, but no longer in his hands, she was sad to see. At his curt gesture, she took up one of the corkscrews she was constantly losing track of in the mess on her desk and opened the new bottle, wondering why he unnerved her so. She’d seen him stern before. Maker knows, he had been stern with her for the first few weeks after she had brought him to Haven. But that was closed off, wary and quiet. The cold and calculating gleam in his eyes now- even knowing it was a sham- had her hands trembling until she could barely pour without spilling.

She poured two goblets half full, out of habit. She raised one to her lips, also out of long habit, as she turned with his in hand. His scowl froze her in place, mouth full of the cold slightly sweet wine. Swallowing, she put her glass back on the desk with a thunk and brought his. It wasn’t hard to remember to look cowed this time. But staring at his groin wasn’t the right answer, either. 

Blackwall took his wine and pulled her closer with a strong hand fisted in her shirt. Her knee collided with the arm of the chair and she blurted out, “I’m sorry, Ser!”

His fingers tightened in the silk of her blouse while he stared up at her, the lines between his brows made doubly evident by the firelight. He was waiting, waiting for her to say- _Oh_.

“I’m sorry I drank without- ah- without asking, my lord.” At his contemptuous snort -which reminded her eerily of her oldest brother at his most obnoxious, but that was nothing to think of now- she rushed on, “I’m sorry I’ve made a mess of the floor, as well.” There was more he was waiting for, but she was damned if she could think of what else he wanted to hear. “Ah…My lord, I don’t-” Blackwall thrust his goblet at her, she took it in both hands, not sure what he meant her to do. The hand in her shirt pulled her to stand between his knees again.

Her laces were yanked apart roughly, and she had to stifle a gasp as he pushed a hand down her trousers, cupping her, his fingers sliding over the wet silk of her knickers. “Did you bring yourself off while you were in the cellar?”

“N-No. No, Ser.” It hadn’t even occurred to her, but she absolutely could have done something about the throbbing between her legs. One of his fingers slipped beneath her smalls, he dragged it up between the lips of her cunt, over her clit quickly and hard enough that the shock of it made her jump. Wine sloshed over the rim of the glass and onto the fist still holding her shirt.

“Punishment,” he held her eyes, that finger circling, hard but slow. She squeezed her eyes shut, unable to stop herself hunching over, shuddering with the pleasure he forced on her. Evelyn bit her lip, and a whimper escaped her despite her best efforts, but Maker, this wasn’t what she’d expected. His own quick breaths were becoming more like panting as she shook in his grip. “Eyes up, girl,” he snarled, giving her several quick flicks against her clit when she didn’t immediately obey. He let go of her shirt, took his hand away and she groaned in frustration as he motioned for her to bare herself to him again. 

Blackwall watched her take off her trousers, draining his goblet and licking the fingers he had tormented her with. She didn’t need to be told where to stand or where to prop her foot or how wide to spread her legs. Evelyn was vibrating with the need to come and if this was how he did it, she would be a good little girl.

Blackwall’s thumb held her open again, pulled the tender lips of her sex up and aside, her clitoris bared for his tongue. She tensed, anticipating another sucking, biting assault, but he waited, snickering at her desperate little noise. The flat of his tongue passing over her from her entrance up into her curls brought on a shuddering moan that she tried to keep inside.

“Quiet, girl,” he snapped, biting the soft curve of her abdomen, the sharp sting of it making her jerk away from his hand.

“Sorry, my lord,” Evelyn straightened, but her leg was shaking, and her knee felt like it would go out from under her any moment.

Blackwall narrowed his eyes, even as he pressed the flat of his palm over the line of his erection under his breeches. “If you can’t manage to be obedient, get on the bed. On your back.”

She went, grateful for a moment away from his sight. Somewhere along the way he had settled into his role and the arrogant curl of his lip made her the tiniest bit more nervous. On shaking hands she crawled to the middle of her big bed then turned over, leaving her sooty feet hanging over the foot board.

“Hmm,” He was right behind her, watching, his hand pulling his cock out again. It was red, as hard as she’d ever seen him, the tip glistening as he circled the base with thumb and two fingers, pulling the bit of looser skin down with a satisfied sigh. “Pull your shirt up.” She followed his orders, her breasts pale in the candlelight, nipples going hard in the chilly air. Evelyn parted her legs a few inches, hiding a smile as his eyes latched on to her sex. “Pretty and pink,” his lopsided grin was out of character, but it hardly mattered. The warm wash of his voice had her shivering while she watched him stroke himself slowly. “Pretty, but not as wet as I would like.”

She snorted, unable to help herself. If she was any more wet she risked ruining her bed.

Blackwall flicked a finger at the headboard, indicating she should move back, make room for him. The leather of his boots creaked as he stretched out across the bed, still fully clothed. One long arm snagged a pillow, folded it double and she raised her hips, letting him stuff it beneath her before he pushed her knees up and to either side. Spread wide now, she waited, heart hammering in her ribs as he propped himself on an elbow and licked the crease at her inner thigh.

She sobbed in torment as the very edges of his beard brushed her most sensitive flesh. His tongue, wet and hot made another pass, then he switched sides, still nothing touched her clit but a tickle of his whiskers. She jerked, unable to stop herself reaching down, pushing her fingers into his hair.

His hand on her wrist was bruisingly tight. “You’ll need to be taught manners,” he sighed, as if the idea gave him no joy, though she saw his reddened cock twitch as he pulled one hand away from his temple and put it on her own knee. A look and she did the same with her left hand. A tiny part of her noted the filthy black marks her feet made pressed into the quilt. “Wider,” he muttered, and she pressed the backs of her heels to her buttocks, closing her eyes on a shaky breath as she waited.

It was light, flickering touches of his tongue that always did her in. He knew she couldn’t bear them. Evelyn clenched her hands on her knees, pulling until the strain made her arms ache, panting as quietly as she could as he lipped at her, the tip of his tongue pressing just inside her, then wriggling up to her clit. But he never gave her enough, even as she felt her own wetness mingled with his saliva running down her cleft, cooling in the air.

_Prick. Bastard, fuck. You bell-end, lick me, Maker take you, shite arse._

When he raised his head from her cunt, she glared down, her chest heaving under her rucked-up shirt. He wiped his chin on her inner thigh, a raspy caress that made her writhe, though she held back her disparaging litany.

He got up, his hand on his cock, lazily tugging a bit; she could feel her eyes go wide in disbelief. Her mouth opened to say something, but before she could, he had shaken a finger at her mockingly. “Good behavior is rewarded.” He poured himself more wine, turning his back to her as he drank. She took the opportunity to stretch her stiff legs, and let one hand slip between her thighs, fingers circling her clit. She was swollen, hot, she couldn’t remember the last time she had been so ready to come.

“Hands up or I tie them.” The growled threat made her twitch, heat flashing through her as she crossed her hands behind her head. He came back to stand at her shoulder, scowling, leaning over her, the tail of his shirt brushing against her breasts, her stomach. She could see up under the loose white shirt, could see his glorious hard chest, the swirls of black hair that thickened in a line down the middle to his groin. His cock was right there, just past her shoulder, bobbing with his movements as he braced his hands on either side of her hips. She could wrap a hand around him, but she lost any rational thoughts when his lips closed over her clit and he sucked, gently, lapping at her with barely-there pressure from the top down that made her squirm and sob brokenly.

“Quiet, quiet,” he crooned, the vibrations of his voice tickling her, his breath cold on her wet skin. The little flicks started again as he settled on his side, trapping her left under his ribs, the mattress dipping under his weight when he stretched out beside her. Evelyn turned her head, pressed her forehead against his knee on the bed. She jerked at each light touch of his tongue like a galley slave under the lash. “You want to come, don’t you, my girl?”

He looked up her body, she nodded, watching with something like dread as he lowered his mouth to her again, his  hand carefully holding her open until he could lick at the very edge of her clit, up high where she was so sensitive it hurt. His tongue was torture, _torture_ and she jerked against him, trying to clench, to pull away, but he pushed her other leg away, leaned into her beneath him and rumbled, 

“No, no, you’ll take this, girl. Take this, and quietly, too.” His hips were shifting, he was rutting a little against the quilts, the head of his cock peeking out from beneath the tail of his shirt. Her mouth watered for it even as he made her shriek with the faintest pressure of his lips, then a maddening soft kiss to her entrance that had her muscles fluttering against his mouth.

Suddenly he was on his knees, moving between her spread legs, hand at the base of his cock and she gasped in relief as he lined himself up, the blunt tip of him pressing against her. Evelyn pulled at her hair, arching as much as she could, planting her heels in the mattress and forcing the first inch inside her as he laughed his mean, dark laugh and teased her, pulling back until she gave a groan of frustration.

The leather of his breeches was velvety on her thighs as he began to move, pushing in but always pulling back before he could nudge against the spot inside her they both knew would tip her over the edge. Then he seemed to lose patience and grabbed her hips in a tight grip, angling her so that he could thrust fully into her and still avoid that place. He watched her intently, brows drawn, a sneer curling his lip while he fucked her. The stinging stretch of him was enough to make her moan deliriously, unable to keep quiet.

Just when she was certain he would abandon their little game and let her come, or at least allow her to move her hands, he slowed, grunting softly with each lazy thrust. He watched her breasts sway with his movements.

“You might sit a throne, my girl,” a shudder caught him and he closed his eyes a moment, breathing raggedly until he was in control again. “But for now,” he angled his hips just so, nudging the head of his cock against the place inside her that made her wail.

She nearly missed his words, she was so loudly gasping with his every thrust. Pleasure shot along her already overtaxed nerves, it felt like lightning running from her clit to her chest, she could barely breathe around the swelling pressure to come, finally _finally_ fall apart. If he would just let her touch herself for a few seconds...

“Please.” She watched him resist the urge to speed up. She twined her fingers harder in her tangled hair, shifted until one foot was resting on his shoulder, trying to find the perfect angle. Blackwall shoved her foot aside, glaring at the dirt left behind.

He slammed into her and stopped, buried to the hilt. She stared greedily as he pulled off his shirt, stared at the lines of muscle and tendon along his ribs, at the prominent veins in his forearms when he took hold of her hips again.

“For now,” he rasped, as if she hadn’t interrupted, “You’ll beg me to make you come, won’t you?” A long, achingly slow retreat and just as torturous plunge back in. “That throne does you no good here. There’s no gold, no army, no power for you here.” He was thrusting raggedly now, losing the rhythm but holding on grimly while she sobbed her frantic agreement.

“One old soldier is all it takes to best you, _isn’t it_?” Swiping the backs of his fingers through the puddle that had gathered beneath her, he slicked them over her throbbing clit once, twice, and on the third pass she convulsed beneath him. She was dimly aware of his bark of triumphant laughter before he threw his head back and came.

Her own orgasm was still smashing into her, the ticking pulse of his release inside her drew a mindless, keening wail from her throat as he thrust through it. Tears ran down into the hair at her temples and she went limp, gasping and laughing, wiping at her eyes weakly even as the last few waves made her hips jerk up into him. 

Something sharp prodded her bare foot and she got her elbows under her to look down, Blackwall hissing as she clenched around him rhythmically.

“You’ve still got your boots on,” she marveled, eying the red scrapes on both her ankles from buckles.

“Needed the traction,” he huffed as a drop of sweat fell from the end of his nose to land on her belly and she went flat on the bed again.

The fit of giggles that overcame her might have passed for hysteria, but he joined in after a moment, that dark, nasty laugh she adored. Especially when it was right in her ear as she lay pinned beneath him, his warm weight soothing, the thudding of his heart knocking against her ribs.

“Never made a woman laugh so much,” he chuckled, mouthing the line of her collarbone.

“I’m a simple girl, Warden.” At his dubious noise, she thumped him in the arse with her heel and bit his ear teasingly. “ _I am_! A good shag makes me happy,” she hummed in a contented way and pushed his sweaty hair from his eyes. 

“Did you drink all the wine? Because it’s your turn to fetch, my lord.”


End file.
